


Two Aliens Walk Into A Bar

by shopfront



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Crossover, Flirting, Gen, M/M, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Pre-Slash, Shore Leave, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:06:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9200291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/pseuds/shopfront
Summary: Two famous faces meet while hiding behind not-very-sneaky pseudonyms on a far flung alien leisure planet. (In which Jim is his own hurt/comfort, and Clark enjoys playing up the ageless enigma card.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> The Superman canon isn't specified here so feel free to pick your Clark, but I must acknowledge being most heavily influenced by Smallville in general (and riffing a little off the Clark will never age and will wander forever alone depressing fic trope Smallville fans liked for a bit there) but picturing Henry Cavill in his most steely jawed Kal persona.

By the time they're done waiting around Yorktown for a new ship to be built, Jim's itching. Just a steady, maddening phantom itch creeping around under his skin. If he was inclined to use one of Bones' Kirk-is-a-stallion metaphors, he'd say he's about ready to take the bit between his teeth and run for broke.

He'd also be tempted to say he's not flattered by the occasional comparison to some great big virile stud animal from Bones' youth, but then he'd be both modest and a liar, and Jim tries very hard not to be either.

Eventually it gets so bad he even slinks voluntarily into the Yorktown clinic late one night when he knows Bones is lending a hand. He has his shoulders practically up around his ears but he's feeling weirder by the day, so he hitches himself up on the end of a bed and asks for a scan and some kind of anti-histamine. But Bones just eyes him up and down with a pointed look and a furrowed brow. Then he sends Jim on his way with a slap upside the head and some disjointed insult about looking like a startled cat and wasting important medical resources.

He'd like to say he doesn't find the speedy dismissal reassuring, but, well, that would also be a lie.

So Jim has an itch under his skin. But then so does everybody who isn't lucky enough to be asked to fill in roster gaps or offer up unique skill sets while they wait. Captain or not, Jim likes to think he doesn't give himself special treatment over his crew (what's left of them, and that's about the point where the itch morphs into a deep ache.) So he tries to keep his boredom on an even shorter leash than he expects his crew to keep themselves on, and by the time the ship is ready that itch has set in deep.

It's a heck of a lot better than the deep fatigue that led up to his near miss of a re-assignment, but it still wears thin quick. Sitting down on a new bridge is a balm, and flinging a new ship hard and fast into deep space is like indulging in a really long scratching session. All the busy work of picking out crew and then the extra rounds during long stretches at warp to integrate the new teams while Scotty breaks in the nacelles is a great distraction. But none of it really lasts.

After a few months Jim just kinda wants to claw his own skin off, so Jim does something he swore he'd never do. The first chance they get for shore leave on a Terran-like planet, he jumps the shore leave queue.

A quiet word with his senior staff has Jim beaming down to a completely different continent than everyone else. The city is bustling and loud in the best way; a way Jim suddenly feels like he needs more than air itself. 

He arrives in the morning with nothing but a duffel bag and a smile. The briefing had compared the planet to Risa but with fewer beaches and even less human contact, though he does see a few faintly familiar species in the crowds. By afternoon he's found something approximating a hotel, a handful of bar recommendations, and plenty of regret that there's no sand to luxuriate on under the bright yellow sun.

The best bit, though, is that nobody recognises him.

*

The first night Jim buys a few rounds, makes a few friends, and also makes a point of learning the local customs before he risks imbibing. It's not too hard to get a feel for things. Even without a beach the Risa comparison is apt. It's a planet built for tourists and the local codes of behaviour are corresponding pretty relaxed.

After a few hours he's feeling smiley and loose limbed as he ambles back to his accommodation, checks in with the ship-

Yes Spock, still in one piece. No Spock, also to my great surprise being alone hasn't led to my capture for torture or ransom yet. No Spock, I don't need company. Or medical attention. Or medical attention masquerading as company. Good _night_ , Spock

\- and crashes into bed with a happy sigh.

The second night he does a little flirting and practises a different kind of self-introduction, and manages to make it back to his room without offending anyone badly enough to get his face knocked in or need an embarrassing emergency beam out.

The third night Jim spots someone in the corner right away after walking in the door, and promptly all but stops breathing. Humanoid, Jim quickly assesses, possibly even human at first glance and _abort abort_ \-- but then someone drunkenly trips over the guy and there's no way any human can move that fast to rescue a drink.

The flash of alien speed settles Jim pulse right back down again, and halts the start of his pivot back for the door.

Not human then, and not a known species either, not looking like that. Earth tabloids would be all over such close human look-a-likes like a speciesist rash. Which would have been a shame, because then Jim Kirk wouldn't get to be the first human ogling those long legs and strong arms and blue eyes that are somehow really intensely piercing even from across a smokey alien bar.

Join Starfleet, see the stars. Feel alien _worlds_ under your... _feet_.

Jim snickers to himself and starts making his way into the crowd, dodging a few dropped drinks himself as he goes and wondering what alien identifying features might be hidden under those clothes.

*

He gets a solid hour of relaxing at the bar before he's interrupted.

"Don't see many humans this far out." 

It's a surprisingly deep voice, right behind him, and Jim swears - he does, he really does - that he's long outgrown his awkward phase but somehow he's still struggling not to curse aloud or visibly flail or fall flat on his arse in surprise.

Get it together, Jim, you're a Starfleet Captain for chrissake.

"You got a name?"

Of course. It's tall, dark, and not-human from the corner and, shoot, now Jim's spluttering and coughing on his own drink. That's probably deeply attractive. He has a sinking feeling that somewhere above him Uhura is laughing and she doesn't know why.

"Call me Jim- my," Jim finally chokes out, turning sideways against the bar as he bites back his surname at the last second, likely covering the slip poorly with the diminutive but whatever. Totally new leisure planet. No Captain Jim Kirk with the potentially recognisable name here, no siree. 

His old lean and smirk routine still feels a little rusty the second night in, but blue eyes doesn't seem to notice, just pins him with an intense stare.

"I used to have a friend called that."

Jim waits a beat, but the other guys lips don't turn up or down and if he's got any other kinds of body language or pheromones or some shit to add context to that sentence it's just going right over Jim's head.

"A Terran name like Jimmy, all the way out here? Somehow I doubt that," he eventually replies with a laugh, raising his glass in a toast. "I do appreciate a good line, though."

That at least gets him a raised eyebrow and a smirk in return, score one for bluffing it out like always.

"Or you can call me something else if it makes you more comfortable, I'm pretty easy."

Jim shrugs and lowers his voice over the last few words with an obvious wink, and success! Blue eyes is ducking his head into a small smile that still somehow lights up his face.

"Jimmy's fine, call me... Call me Kal."

After a few more drinks, shared this time, and surprisingly little shared information, Jim finds himself heading back to his room to check in with Spock and get ready for bed. Alone. Again. 

He stumbles through his nightly routine before deciding to comm Spock a second time for the night and extend his shore leave for a few more days. Captain's prerogative, he claims, fending off Spocks threats to send Bones down. Badly, apparently, and eventually he finds himself prevailing upon Uhura to intervene.

Thank god, he thinks after, it was actually her on the comm and not some impressionable ensign listening in on him bickering with his First Officer.

He drifts off afterward a little concerned he's still going to wake up to Bones bitching at him, but otherwise sleeps more soundly than he has in months.

*

Once again Jim spots him from the doorway. Not really a surprise, when he considers it, given Kal is easily a head above the height of most of the other occupants and nearly double the height of the handful of locals.

"So, Kal, what's a fresh faced young guy like you doing drinking alone in a place like this?" Jim says, letting the words burst out in one long, loud rush as he exhales and drops into a seat with a clatter.

He could admit to being disappointed when Kal doesn't startle like Jim had the night before. But Jim could also go to his grave swearing that payback wasn't his intention. He hasn't really decided yet, when Kal breaks through his thoughts.

"I'm not that young," Kal says. His eyes seem just as bright as the night before, but his mouth is twisted a little at the corners. "I'm nearly three hundred in Terran years."

Jim freezes, hand out to flag someone down for a drink, and stares unashamedly. He let his eyes wander a little, just checking - yes, no, no marks, no ridges, no scales, no anything, definitely still looking very human.

"You part Trill or something?" He chokes out eventually, hand still hovering.

The twist to Kal's mouth suddenly breaks into a wide grin, warm and bright enough to make Jim start laughing back a little. "Something like that."

"Well alrighty then," Jim says, flagging back the barkeep properly now, though still tempted to push even though his gut is singing _stop already_. How does this guy know what the length of an Earth year is anyway? "What's a something-like-part-Trill drinking around here tonight anyway?"

**Author's Note:**

> Happy fandom stocking day! I was aiming for characters hiding their identity, with a bit of banter and hopefully a touch of flirting and pre-slash, from your list of likes. I hope what I came up with gives you a little joy today.
> 
> A little more personal head canon for this if you'd like some, given Jim stole the show (are we that surprised?) is that most records of Superman were damaged or lost in one of the Earth conflicts that are post-us but pre-Federation. So there's no way Jim's gonna put that face and human-like appearance together and get Clark Kent or Kryptonian. I think Clark would slowly fade out of public view as technology catches up to doing some of what he can do with super powers, and as humans get closer to space travel. Perhaps he's been wandering from yellow star system to yellow star system further and further away from Earth looking for something to emotionally anchor him now all his loved ones are dead and his adoptive planet doesn't need him. I like to think meeting Jim might also send his course spinning back towards happier days back on Earth again or another Federation world, too.
> 
> My other personal headcanon is that Spock gets antsy and sends Bones down anyway a few nights later just to be a little shit, and then everyone has to put up with Bones griping about his eyes when he's rematerialised before anyone comms Jim to warn him and after certain clothes have come off Clark. Either that or maybe Bones joins in, I can't really decide.


End file.
